Swimming
by Hopeakaarme
Summary: Back, forth. Back, forth. Watching a fish in his aquarium, Oishi wonders if his own life isn't exactly the same. A birthday fic for Oishi. Shounen ai TezuOishi.


Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: Written for Oishi's birthday. Somewhat... surreal.

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Swimming

Back, forth. Back, forth. Oishi's eyes followed the fish as it calmly swam from one corner of the aquarium to another, completely ignoring the other fish around it. Even with the lights of the aquarium off, the bright colours of a thousand tiny scales flashed every now and then in the narrow ray of moonlight peeking in between the nigh-closed curtains. There was some unclear movement at the bottom of the aquarium as the other night-time fish looked around for food; however, most of them were asleep in their hideaways amidst the plants and pieces of wood. Only this one fish was visible, quietly swimming on its way.

Back, forth. Back, forth.

The peaceful rhythm of the fish's swimming stayed constant even as Oishi's breathing got slower, little by little settling on the same pace with the other breath in the room. Barely audible, Oishi heard the quiet breaths, in and out, in and out, never faltering in their rhythm. The steady, quiet rumbling of the water filter almost concealed it, everything else in the room eerily silent.

Back, forth. In, out. Quiet, quiet, do you hear me, Oishi.

Fingers brushing against the glass – it was clear, wasn't it, he'd just cleaned it the day before – Oishi let his forehead lean against it, carefully, carefully, if you touch it too suddenly you'll disturb the waters. Even in the darkness he saw a shadow of his reflection, lonely green eyes looking back at him, behind them the dark aquarium and the restless fish. Behind him, the window, the sliver of moonlight and the quiet breaths, matching his. Quiet, quiet.

Back, forth.

Oishi closed his eyes and thought of swimming, of cool water surrounding him, of breaking the surface and sinking under, under, only to resurface again, gasping for breath. He could almost feel it, taste the freshness of air, the hilarity of breathing again the very second before you thought your lungs would burst in lack of oxygen. And then back to the water, weightless, always so weightless, nothing to burden him or tie him down, for a moment not worrying about anything but the next stroke, next gasp of air, next time he found himself surrounded by water. Forward, forward –

Until the end of the pool.

Maybe he was indeed swimming, Oishi thought idly, opening his eyes again to catch a glimpse of the still swimming fish, maybe he was a swimmer in a pool, a fish in an aquarium, stuck on his eternal track of going back and forth, always the same, always the same. Maybe there was a pane of glass somewhere, a border, a limit to his world, and behind it someone was watching him, watching him swim back and forth and wondering how he could stand it, how he could stand such a mundane and never-changing life. It was true, wasn't it; his life was always the same, morning day evening nothing ever changed. And then there was night, night and silence and quiet breaths as he watched the fish swim back and forth, the carpet soft under his bare legs as he knelt beside the aquarium.

And in the morning he would get up again, another day of work and friends and coming home to an empty house and waiting, always waiting it seemed, and finally greeting his arriving lover and eating dinner and then another night of his own pacing without pacing, the fish swimming around while he stayed still. And nothing would change, would it, and in the morning he would again feel tired and cure it with coffee and nobody else would know the path of the moonlight across the room in the middle of night.

Watching the fish, he was too deep in his thoughts to notice the minute change in the breaths, or maybe he knew the change too well to pay attention to it, the same change came every night didn't it yet when he finally made his way back to the bed it was still the same and there was no word, no question, so obviously the change was nothing worth noting. The carpet hushed the quiet footsteps even further, bare feet crossing the room, carefully avoiding the ray of moonlight so as not to cast a shadow.

Then, suddenly, there were arms around him, and he found himself drawn against a warm chest, and a face was pressed against his hair, softly, softly, not a word was whispered but he heard the message nevertheless.

"I'm sorry," Oishi whispered, and he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for, leaving the bed or waking up his lover or something else, a thousand other things, and as he tried to speak further the words stuck in his throat and all he could do was put his hands on the arms around his shoulders, not even himself sure whether he was trying to hold them closer or pry them away. "I'm sorry," and the fish swam back and forth, back and forth, and the soft breaths behind him made the tiny hairs at the base of his neck tremble.

"No, I am," came the reply, rough and quiet and slightly sleepy, and he was pulled just a bit tighter against the warm chest, his head falling back to rest on a firm shoulder, and there was something wet on his face and it took him a moment to realize it was tears.

There was silence, silence that spoke more than any words ever could, and a thousand questions were asked and answered, in the arms around him, in the tears falling even though he wasn't entirely sure why, in the soft kiss placed on his throat, the slight trembling of his hands. Words, then, quiet as though they were both afraid of disturbing the night, do you want to talk, yes but let's wait for the morning, and the arms were away and a hand tugged at his and suddenly he was on his feet again, across the room, falling on the bed, and then the arms drew him even closer and he hid his face in the pyjama-clad chest.

He wasn't sure which one of them drew the covers over them, or who whispered the final goodnight, nor just what they had agreed to talk about, but he did know it had been ages since he had last felt so warm at night.

Oishi closed his eyes and dreamed, dreamed of swimming, of cool water surrounding him all around, but in his dream it wasn't a pool but the ocean, endless and limitless. But he turned around eventually, because some things are worth returning to after all, and as he finally stood up from the water and walked the rest of the way to the ground someone was already standing there, waiting.

Come summer, he and Tezuka went to the beach.


End file.
